They camped with others at Royston until the arrival of the three
Richards: Richard of York, Richard of Warwick and Richard of Salisbury,
on May 20. Two days later found the Yorkists encamped outside St.
Albans, with the Lancastrians in the town. After much parleying the
Yorkists advanced to the attack. The Duke of York led on one wing, the
Earl of Salisbury on the other, while John was with the Earl of Warwick
in the center. The palisades at this point were old and rotten and the
ditch dry. They were soon passed and the defenders driven back or
killed.
“Come with me, Jabez,” said John as they advanced, “I know a way.”
“Surely, at the side of the house next the Checquers, the side door at
the stairway where we met Rhoda,” said Jabez.
“Aye,” said John, “but go quietly along by the bushes that we be not
seen.”
But they were seen, and an arrow found lodging in Jabez’ breast, who
fell, while John reached and passed behind a projecting buttress that
hid a small doorway. This opened on a stair, up which he passed to a
window fronting on Checquers Street where he posted himself and began
shooting at the Lancastrians in the street below. He had been closely
followed by numerous archers and several men at arms. The archers posted
themselves at the other windows while the men at arms broke into the
rooms below, killed those posted there and issued forth into the street
from the doorway. Presently Richard of Warwick issued forth into the
street and led the fighting while other Yorkist archers broke into the
houses on the other side of the street and shot from the windows, all
the while shouting: “A Warwick! a Warwick!” Here you saw one fall with
his brains dashed out, there another with a broken arm, a third with a
cut throat and a fourth with a pierced chest, and the whole street was
full of dead corpses.[1]
As the Lancastrians broke and fled in confusion, John remembered Lisbeth
and Blanche, unprotected. There was his place of duty. Straightway he
descended and pushed his way along the crowded road to the house in
Dagnal Lane in time to head the rabble who, crazed with blood and drink,
had begun to sack the town.
“Come with me!” he called to the frightened pair, bursting in at the
door, “but bring warm clothing; we must even sleep afield this night.”
So saying he hurriedly filled a basket, caught up some wraps and started
northward toward an angle of the palisade and ditch.
The flight of the vanquished was in three directions: Northwest toward
Dunstable, along Watling Street, North toward Harpenden and southwest
toward Watford.
Breaking down some palisades, John helped the women over the ditch and
the three ran toward the shelter of the forest. This gained, he helped
them climb into the arms of an ancient beech, where they lay concealed
while the pursued and pursuers thundered by down the road on either
side, and a scattering few stole through the underbrush below and around
them.
As the night fell it grew colder, and Blanche crept into his arms, laid
her head confidingly against his shoulder and slept. The sleep of all
three was, however, somewhat broken by the noises made by the peasantry
searching with torches for the bodies of the slain.
In the morning, all danger having passed, John helped the women down and
the three returned to their home which was in great disorder and bare of
everything of value. It was a sad homecoming for the women, but it was
useless to repine, so they set to work to clean the house and put it in
order. John was informed that the Earl of Warwick desired his immediate
attendance. “Is it true,” the Earl demanded, “that you led the archers
up the stairway?”
“Yes, your Lordship,” said John, “I knew of the door and the stairway of
old.”
“It was a great deed and shall not be forgotten, choose thy reward!”
“To serve your Lordship,” said John.
“Well said,” returned the Earl, “thou shalt be my page.”
“An your Lordship please, I would first bury Jabez Short who was killed
beside me.”
“So do,” replied the Earl, “I will send for thee anon.”
John encountered Jed on his return; “do thou look after the women folk,”
said Jed, “I must straight to London with the Earl.”
That morning the Duke of Norfolk marched into St. Albans with 6,000 men
and the army started for London with the wounded King, who had been
struck on the neck with an arrow.
Several days passed by before Jed could reach the Earl who was much
engaged. In the meantime he was able to reach the Countess, Anne
Beauchamp, who was the daughter of Richard Beauchamp, the former Duke,
and sister of Henry, Duke of Warwick, from whom she had inherited.
The Countess informed Jed that she remembered Sir John Jernyngan, who
was still living and well. He was a fine, upstanding man, tall,
straight, with dark, somewhat curly hair and blue eyes. She remembered
well how her father, who was the very flower of chivalry, and a gallant
soldier, had knighted him for his gallant deeds on the field at
Savignies. Lady Jernyngan was the daughter of Sir Everard Herbert of
Bromhill in Hereford. Her hand had also been sought by one Victor Bozen,
a soldier of fortune whose description was identical with that of the
dead robber. It was true that he had the assurance to demand her hand in
marriage, but the lady had openly scorned him, and in revenge he had
stabbed her successful suitor who had never harmed him. She rejoiced
that his son—for she doubted not John was his son—had unknowingly
revenged the foul deed.
Romance, then as now, greatly appeals to the gentle mind. Anne became
greatly interested in John and took him under her special protection.
She became his advocate with the Earl, where he needed no advocate, and
shielded him from the jibes and petty tyrannies of the pages at
Warwick—her own castle—where he spent eighteen months perfecting himself
in arms and chivalry.
On his first visit home after a six months’ absence, Blanche flew at
him, threw herself into his arms and kissed him.
“I have news for thee, sweetheart,” said John, “my Lady has discovered”—
“Well,” said Blanche, “what hath she discovered?”
“I had better not tell thee, ’twill make thee unhappy.”
“Nay, tell me!”
“Give me first six kisses!”
“There then, thou silly. Now tell me!”
“My, thy lips are sweet! She thinks thou art no sister of mine.”
“Oh John, how dreadful!”
“So I thought at first, but not now. We may wed.”
“Oh no! How could we?”
“We may and will. Now give me some more kisses.”
“Not so. If I am no sister why kiss? Too many have I given thee
already.”
“My Lady says thou art Blanche Wychyngham, the daughter of Sir Edmund
Wychyngham of Norfolk, and that we were stolen and carried off by my
nurse who was a sister of that Victor Bozen I slew on the way to
Royston. He had a grudge against thy father also.”
“Oh John! how dreadful. I cannot bear it.” And she ran off to her foster
mother in tears.